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Chapter Text

Kloppman was already up and moving, making his way upstairs to wake up the kids in the lodging house. They were all asleep, strewn two to a bed on the bunks (only the older lucky ones got an entire bed to themselves).  

“Get up! Up, Newsies! New day! Carry the banner! Sell the papers!”  

Drew woke up slowly, blinking sleep out of his eyes as they settled on the same thing they do every morning.  

Jack Kelly, in the next bed over, still fast asleep as Kloppman made his way over to him.   

“Yo, Brit.” A voice called, and like every morning, Drew tore his eyes away.   

“Wass’it, Race?” He rolled over, finding the boy in question standing next to his bunk. He slept right underneath him, and they were senior (lucky) enough to be able to keep their same sleeping arrangements for months now.   

“You have anotha cigar? Snipe stole my last one-”  

“You can steal anud-”  

“Well, i want it now!”  

Drew chuckled, reaching over to the pack tied around his bedpost. “Don’t tell nobody, Race. people are gonna start thinkin’ I fancy you or sum.”  

“Trust me, Brit, ain’t nobody here thinking that, not with the way you stare after-”  

“I will take it back!” And at least Race had the decency to look a little guilty before he scurried away.  

“Mornin’ Andy,” Jack called out as he slid off his bed. Yeah, he wasn’t beating any rumours when he lets Jack call him ‘Andy’ and threatens to hit anyone else who dares. Only a few of the newsies he was closest with call him ‘Drew’ and most of the others stick with 'Brit’. Spot called him ‘Andy’ a couple of times, but it never felt the same as when Jack does it.  

God, Race was right. That sucks. He can never know.  

“Mornin’ Jack. ‘Notha day.” He dropped down from his own bed, sliding on pants and a shirt. He grabbed his suspenders as he weaved around the rest of the boys, pushing his way into a bathroom stall. He wasn’t above using his age and seniority as a way to get into better situations. In this particular moment, the toilet.  

Outside, he slung on his suspenders, washing his hands and grabbing the shaving cream. A quick shave in the morning to chase away whatever had grown in the night, and then he was making his way back to his bunk, grabbing his vest and hat.  

“Andy.”  

He looked up, Jack barely a foot in front of him. “Wh-”  

“You’ve got something...” He raised a hand to Drew’s face, rubbing just above his jaw. “Shaving cream.”  

“Yeah.” He swore he was holding his breath, that sounded a little too breathless. “Thanks.”   

That damned hand was still on his jaw.  

“No problem.” Jack quickly glanced around the room, and seemingly satisfied with what he saw, brushed his lips against Drew’s.  

Drew was holding his breath once more, unsure whether to pull back and ask the question or chase his lips for another kiss.   

“Your hat’s crooked,” Jack whispered, his breath fanning over his lips.  

“Didn’t realise that was important right now.” His voice was equally soft, neither one of them seemingly eager to move from the little space they’d created.  

“Can’t sell many papes looking like a mess, Andy.”  

“Don’t we lo-” God, he had to have more resolve than this because Jack had his lips against his again, a little more pressure than the previous one. It shut him up too fast and this time, Drew barely hesitated to reach out, pulling Jack closer to him by that damned bandana.   

His lips were chapped but the kiss was soft, and Drew found himself melting into it, falling closer to him. Until a voice called out 'Jack!’ and suddenly his lips left his and Jack Kelly was pulling away with a smile and a wink, leaving Drew reeling from the loss.   

Racetrack appeared next to him with a low whistle. “Looking a little red there, Brit.”  

He snatched the cigar out of his hands and took off for the stairs.   

Carrying the banner. Same old morning.   

-  

Walking through the streets of Manhattan with the rest of the newsies, Drew felt at peace. As at peace as he can get after kissing Jack Kelly not even ten minutes ago.   

He didn’t even know how they got to this point. The best he could pinpoint as the actual start was the time a couple months back that Drew had laid awake in bed, unable to fall asleep until Jack called out to him, and they slipped out of the lodging house to Medda’s theatre. They spent a few hours together without talking, just each other to their own devices and a record playing somewhere in the building. Every once in a while, Drew would look up from the book he was reading and watch Jack work on his newest backdrop. He’d been crushing on Jack for almost a year then but had not said anything out of fear for… something. So he was content with spending a night alone with him, just in his presence. Until Jack had softly called out to him, not with ‘Drew’ or ‘Brit’ but with ‘Andy’.  

It was fairly new that he had started doing that so Drew’s heart had fluttered, and he looked up to see Jack kneeling in front of him. His hazel eyes were light as he smiled softly at him and Drew found himself already smiling back before he completely registered it.   

“Hmm?”  

“We have to head back soon,” Jack had murmured, eyes tracking all over his face but never leaving his own for too long.   

“Okay,” he’d responded, equally quiet as he did the same. He didn’t know what came over him, but he was reaching a hand up, wetting his thumb before brushing it over Jack's cheek, his eyes following the movement.   

“You’ve got some paint here,” he’d said, Jack’s eyes locking on him as he spoke. “Just a bit of blue.”  

Jack had hummed out an acknowledgment and Drew didn’t drop his hand, keeping it cupped around his jaw.   

Jack’s eyes had flicked down for a moment, and that was the only warning he got before his lips were pressing against his, quick and fast. He moved to pull away but Drew moved his hand from his jaw to the back of his head, pulling him back in.   

His hand went to his shoulder, and they sat there, lips moving against each other's slowly until they had to pull away to breathe.  

They sat in the silence, the record having stopped long ago, just breathing together.   

His hand slipped off his shoulder, and Drew's dropped from his head. “We have to go now.”  

Drew had just nodded, and they worked in the silence putting all their stuff back and walking to the lodging house.   

He was slipping off his shoes when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to Jack just a breath away. He had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his eyes, which was ridiculously because Jack was only a few months older than him.  

A hand curved around his face, his thumb brushing over his eyebrow, and Jack was pulling Drew into an impossibly soft kiss. He pulled away just far enough to speak, his breath ghosting over Drew's lips as he whispered “Goodnight, Andy.”  

Drew had just enough time to reply ‘Night, Jack” before the hand was gone and Jack was climbing up into his own bed. He paused for only a second before climbing to his own, and when he woke up in the morning, nothing had changed. Neither one of them brought it up and the days went on just about the same, except now Jack would pull him to the side in the middle of the work day, or in a corner before dinner, or beside their bunks in the morning, pressing a few kisses to his lips before strolling away with a cheeky wink and a blinding smile.   

Their nights in Medda’s theatre became more common and those were the times where Drew could be bold. When Jack took a break from painting and sat down next to him, Drew would close his book and grasp his chin, pulling him into soft kiss.   

Jack would just hum happily, running a hand through his hair as he edged closer, Drew moving too until they were flush against each other, books and paintings forgotten for the moment of time they’d created for themselves.   

“You ever gon’ tell him?” Race piped up from next to him, another cigar in his hand. He must have stolen it off someone else because the one he’d taken from him earlier was currently in his mouth.   

“Don’t think i can.” If Jack found a brother in Crutchy, Drew found his in Racetrack Higgins. They confided in each other with most everything, so Drew knew about Race’s crush on a certain Brooklyn boy and Race knew all about Drew's depressing crush on Jack and the current situation he was in.   

He’d also stumbled across one of the first aftermaths of Jack and him kissing, ending with Drew crouched against a wall, trying to catch his breath and slow his pounding heart.   

He was concerned for all of two minutes before Drew explained the situation and then he proceeded to laugh his ass off.   

Obviously, his best friend.   

“It’s gon’ start hurting.”  

It already hurt, every time Jack pulled away and went to talk with another newsie, fixing him that same smile, like it didn’t hurt him as much as it hurt Drew to walk away, that they didn’t talk about whatever was happening.   

There were so many times Drew thought about saying something, about asking what all of this meant, about telling Jack to his face that he liked him and wanted him, needed him. And every time he thought about it, maybe work up the courage to finally do it, he thought about the way Jack's lips felt on his and how much it would hurt to leave that feeling behind. To hear that Jack didn’t want him like that, that he didn’t want whatever the hell they were doing anymore, to see him kiss someone else the same way he did Drew right now.   

“He’s worth it.”  

“Drew…” Race looked sad on his behalf and Drew had enough self-awareness to know it was pitiful, the situation he was in.   

Jack’s face found him in the crowd, giving him the same soft, blinding smile he always did, and Drew found himself smiling back, like always.   

“It’s alright, Race. Pape sellin’ time, alright?”  

It’s gonna have to be alright.   

Chapter Text

The gates had yet to open so the newsies were gathered in front of them, chattering amongst themselves. Drew was next to Race and Mush, who were right at the front of the group, so he had a perfect line of sight to the Delancy brothers showing up.   

“Dear me,” Race started to say, and Drew had to smother a laugh. You could always count on Race to add a bit of flair to anything. “What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewers may have backed up during the night.”  

“Nah, too rotten to be the sewers,” Boots added and the rest of the crew definitely saw where this was going.  

“It must be the Delancy brothers!” Crutchy exclaimed, everyone bursting out laughing as the brothers stalked up to the gate.   

“Hiya boys,” Race said cheerfully, a giant smile on his face. The brothers just stared before Oscar turned to one of the younger ones, Snipeshooter, and gripped him by the back of his neck, pulling him away from the crowd.  

“In the back, you lousy little shrimp,” he growled out before throwing him onto the ground.  

Everyone tensed, and Drew rolled his eyes, placing a hand on Jack’s arm as a warning as he moved past him, kneeling to the ground to help Snipeshooter up.  

“It’s not good to do that. Not healthy.” He heard Race say, his tone joking but with an edge.  

“You shouldn’t call people lousy little shrimps, Oscar,” Jack said, no doubt making his way to the front of the pack to look the brothers in the face. “Unless you’re referring to the family resemblance in your brudda here.”  

“5-1 that Cowboy skunks ‘em. who’s betting?” from Race was followed by a chorus of “Bum odds” because yeah, it was a lousy bet.  

“That’s right. It’s an insult. And so’s this.” And Drew had gotten Snipeshooter and himself upright in time to watch Jack snatch the hat from Morris' head before taking off.   

Drew just watched the three run around the square, running a hand over his face as he sighed and laughed. How is it the guy he was crushing on could be such a sweetheart and such a dumbass?  

He watched as Jack bumped into a couple boys as he was running, stopping just long enough to apologise before he took off again. The three boys were now getting in a fight and Drew could only laugh at the depressing effort the Delancy brothers gave to it. Once he was free of that problem, Jack took off to climb the gate, waving to all his fans, the newsies.   

Their eyes met above the crowd and Drew tipped his hat to him, Jack responding with a wink before the gates swung open and he grabbed onto a rope, sliding back down to the ground.  

“You know, you keep staring at him, people gon’ start to notice,” Race laughed as they strolled in.  

“Oh, the people have already been noticing,” Skittery called out, only egging on Race’s laugher and getting a groan out of Drew.  

“Someone kill me now.”  

“Can’t be doing that.”  

He got up to the window, taking his hundred papes as usual and taking a seat between Race and Jack. He flipped through the pages, looking for anything that could be spun to be more enticing.  

“Anything good this morning?” Race asked, pulling the cigar from his mouth.  

“Trash fire on ellis. Could work.”  

“You wanna sit down?” He heard Jack say, and he looked up to see him nodding to the young boy next to them, who did as he said.  

“Look at this, ‘Baby born with two heads,’” Race read out, showing Drew the page. “Must be from brooklyn.”  

“You’re one to talk.”  

“Are you accusing me of lying, kid?” The anger in Weasel’s voice broke through their conversation, and Drew was quick to his feet, Jack following suit.   

It was that guy Jack had bumped into during his run from the Delancy brothers.   

“No, I just want my paper.”  

Jack and Drew approached the counter at the same time, Drew taking the stack from the guy’s hand and thumbing through it. He looked up, finding Jack watching him, and nodded his head towards the new guy. He was right, only 19.  

“It’s 19, Weasel,” Jack spoke up as Drew handed the stack back. “It’s 19, but don’t worry about it. It's an honest mistake. I mean, Morris, he can’t count to twenty with his shoes on.” Drew didn’t even bother to hide his snort.  

“Alright, get out of here,” Weasel grumbled, sliding another paper through the opening.  

“Hold it,” Jack said. “Race, will you spot me two bits?” He tossed them up, Jack placing them on the counter.  

“Another 50 for my friend here.” He clapped the new guy on the shoulder.  

“Oh, I don’t want another 50,” he protested.  

“Sure you do, every newsie wants more papes.”  

“I don’t.”  

“What’re you, stupid?” Drew muttered as Jack put the stack of papers in the new guy’s arms, shouldering his own and walking down the steps.  

“I don’t want your papes. I don’t take charity from anybody. I don’t even know you. I don’t care to.” He took the extra off the stack, holding it out for Jack to take. “Here are your papes.”  

“Cowboy!” It was the little guy that was sitting next to them earlier. “They call him Cowboy.”  

“Yeah,” Jack chuckled, casting a look over to Drew, who was wearing an equally amused expression. “Well, that and a lot of other things, including Jack Kelly, which is what my mother called me.”  

“And what do they call you, kid?” Drew asked.  

“Les. And this is my brother, David.” Who was still standing there, holding out the extra papes like an idiot. “He’s older.”  

“Oh, no kidding.”  

“So how old are you, les?” Jack asked, turning to hand off his papes to someone. His eyes fell on Drew, who only raised an eyebrow before Jack smiled, dropping them in Race’s arms instead.  

“Near 10.”  

“Near 10. Well, that’s no good. If anyone asks, you should say you’re 7.” He knelt down to look the Les in the eyes. “See, younger sells more papes. If we’re gonna be partners, we wanna be the best.”  

“Wait, wait, wait,” David said, finally breaking out of his stupor. “Who said anything about partners?”  

“Well, you owe me 2 bits right?” Jack straightened up, looking at David now. “Well, I’ll consider than an investment. We sell together, we split 70-30, plus you get the benefit of observing me, no charge.”  

“Ah-ha,” David laughed, an incredulous look on his face.  

“Ah-ha,” jack mocked.  

“Hey, you’re getting the chance of a lifetime here, Davey,” Crutchy called out from behind him. “You learn from Jack, you learn from the best. Only one who can match him is Brit.”  

“Brit?”  

“That’d be me,” Drew spoke up, giving Davey a slight nod of acknowledgement.  

“Well, if he’s the best, then how come he needs me?”  

Jack sighed. “Listen, I don’t need you, pal, but I ain’t got a cute little brotha like Les here to front for me. With this kid’s puss and my god-given talent, we could move a thousand papes a week.” He looked back to the younger brother. “So, what do you say, Les? You wanna sell papes with me?”  

“Yeah!”  

“So we got a deal?” Jack turned back to Davey.  

“Wait, it’s got to be at least 50-50.”  

“60-40 or I forget the whole thing.”  

In the crowd, mutterings of “that’s fair” came up and Drew watched as Davey and Les had a silent conversation, mainly of Les nodding to Davey to agree.   

“What do you say?”  

Davey held out a hand, and Jack went to match, spitting into his palm and reaching out just as Davey was pulling away.  

“What’s the matter?”  

“That’s disgusting!” And that caused the group to burst out in laughter, everyone seeing it as a sign to disperse and start the work day.  

Race handed the papes back to Jack, clapping Drew on the shoulder before heading off to his particular stomping ground.  

Drew fell in line with Jack, calling out headlines and handing out papes as Jack talked with Davey and Les, sharing with them the newsie way.  

“Why do they call you Brit?” Les asked at one point, the younger boy looking up at him as he was just trading a couple of the papers in his hand for a couple coins.   

“Cause the way I talk, I sound English,” he shrugged. “Name stuck.”  

“English?” He parroted.  

“British,” Davey corrected. “From England, hence Brit.”  

“Your brother’s got it.”  

“What’s your actual name?”  

Drew shot Davey a look. “What’s it to you?”  

“Andy.”  

Jack was behind him before he could respond, a hand on his arm. He was being pulled through the crowd, unaware if Davey and Les were following them but also not finding it in himself to care as Jack stopped them behind a cart, pulling the papers out of his hand and dropping them to the ground with his own.  

There wasn’t an exchange of words, just Jack cupping his jaw and Drew throwing his arm around his shoulders, their lips meeting in the middle. It wasn’t rushed, just the same practiced motions like they’d done this hundreds of times (they probably had at this point). Jack’s other hand moved to knock off his hat, tangling his fingers in his hair.  

Drew moved away first, only once he desperately needed to breathe. Jack at least had the decency to look equally flushed, lips starting to swell just a bit.  

“Hi,” Drew breathed out, once he found it in himself to talk again.  

“Hi.”  

“Any particular reason to interrupt the conversation I was havin’?”  

“Just wanted to,” Jack replied cheekily. He pulled him into another kiss just briefly before pulling away, kneeling to pick up Drew's hat and papers. “We should get back to them.”  

“Yeah.” Drew nodded, taking his things from Jack, the hat going back on his head as Jack knelt down for his own stack.  

“Hey, Jack.”  

“Hmm?” He turned to him, the same smile as always already dancing on his face.  

Drew leaned forward, kissing him chastely before pulling away. “Gotta go find them.”  

“Yeah.” And maybe Drew was just imagining it, but maybe Jack sounded just as torn up as he felt about it all.  

Jack fell in step next to him, as they made their way through the crowd to find Davey and Les where they’d left them.  

Davey fixed them both a look. “Where’d you guys go?”  

Jack shrugged. “Crutchy needed our help with somethin’.”  

Davey seemed content to take that for an answer, and the four of them continued through the street, tossing up headlines and handing out papers for coins.  

“So, Andy-”  

“Don’t call me that.”  

“Don’t call him that.”  

Drew cast a look to Jack, finding him fixing a hard stare on Davey, who looked confused by the turn of events from a name.  

“What do you mean? You called him A-”  

“Don’t call him that,” Jack said again, taking a step towards Davey, and Drew realised that as confused as he was by this reaction right now, he didn’t need a fight to break out right this second.  

“It’s Drew,” He spoke up, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder and gently pushing him out of the way, a silent way of telling him to calm the fuck down . “Most people call me 'Brit', but if you want an actual name, it’s Drew.”  

“He calls you-”  

“It’s Brit or Drew, Davey,” Drew said dryly, not eager to actually have to hold Jack back if he said his name again. It seemed like a real possibility at this point, given the way he hasn’t stopped glaring at Davey since he first said it. “Take your pick.”  

“Drew,” he nodded, and that seemed to unwind something in Jack because he relaxed, a smile back on his face.  

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”  

Davey looked like he wanted to comment on it more (really, that curiosity was going to get him hit one day) but Jack and Drew were already pushing forward, calling out headlines.  

As he worked, his mind drifted back off to the interaction, about how tense Jack got, the glare that was pointed at Davey. Jack knew he was the only one that called him Andy, he definitely knew how he was the only one he let get away with it without a single complaint. But he didn’t realise how defensive of his name Jack was himself.  

Maybe, possibly, Drew wasn’t as alone in his feeling as he thought.  

Chapter Text

At the boxing ring, the four of them split up. Jack and Davey went one way, calling out headlines and passing out papes. Drew trailed behind Les, subconsciously delegating himself the task of watching the younger boy in the crowd.   

He wasn’t as young as Les was when he started being a newsie, but he’s seen enough of the younger ones get roughed up on the streets to know it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out on him.   

They ran back into Jack and Davey, Les eagerly running up to his brother to show off his empty hands.  

“Hey, you start in the back like I told you?” Jack asked, Les nodding eagerly. “Okay, show me again.”  

Les coughs, putting a sickly expression on his face. “Buy me last pape, mista?” he asked, his voice putting on a slightly british accent.   

“It’s heartbreaking kid,” Jack laughed, pushing a couple more papers in his hand. “Go get ‘em.”  

Les took off, and Jack glanced over at Drew. “Ya know, his accent might be better than yours.”  

“Watch your words, Jack Kelly,” Drew scoffed, a smile gracing his face that Jack matched before he turned back around, following Les through the crowd.  

As he was leaving, he caught Davey starting up. “My father taught us not to lie.”  

Jesus, the kid really didn’t get it yet.  

Ahead of him, Les was standing in front of a couple guys, his hands empty as they gestured to the cups in their hands. Drew made it to the group just as Less was pulling one of the cups to his mouth.  

“What’s happening here?”  

“They’re betting me a quarter I won’t drink some.”  

Drew looked back down at the cup, a little over a half full. The other guy that was there, his was about three quarters full.  

Les was young, too young to be taking unknown drinks from men at a boxing match. Maybe it was nothing, it could be just beer, but it could also be something and Drew didn’t want that for him.  

He was older, just turned 17 a couple weeks ago. Les seemed smart enough that if something did go wrong, he could probably make it back to where Jack and Davey were to get help.  

“Four quarters I won’t drink both cups,” he said, handing the last of his papers to Les, taking the cup out of his hands.  

They guy without a cup looked at his quizzically. “How old are ya?”  

He shrugged. “15.” He looked young enough.  

The two guys shared a look, before they both nodded. “Four quarters for all of it.”  

Drew nodded, lifting the cup up like a toast before bringing it to his mouth. It wasn’t his first time with alcohol, not in a long shot with the way the newsies were on the street, but he never made a habit of drinking it. The bitter taste of the beer ran down his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut as he gulped it down.   

Reaching the bottom of the cup, he reached out a hand for the second one, the guy handing it over with an amused grin. He did the same as the first cup, starting to chug it down. He really was stupid for ending with the fuller cup. It was a decent amount of alcohol, and in a short amount of time in someone like him, he would be feeling the effects of it soon.  

He finished the cup, handing it back over to the guy while wiping his mouth. “Done.”  

“Four quarters!” Les cheered, holding out a hand for the money, which the guys did drop into his palm. good.  

“You want to stay for a while longer, boy?” The first one said, and Drew tensed.   

“Papes to sell.” He nodded back to Les, taking some of the papers back from him and starting back to their friends.   

Les was already running in front of him, selling the last of the papes in his hand before he spotted Jack and Davey. “We got four quarters! Quick, give me some more last papes.”  

Jack was moving to hand him some, but Davey grabbed on to Les, pulling him close. “Hold on.” He sniffed. “You smell like beer.”  

“Well, that’s how we made the quarters. I started to drink some-” Drew watched with thinly veiled amusement at the look Davey was fixing Jack , obviously blaming him for this behaviour. “-but then Brit came over and bet them four quarters he wouldn’t drink it all, and he did! Two cups!”  

Jack turned to now fix Drew a look and he felt himself flushing. Or maybe that was the alcohol. “How much?”  

He shrugged, already feeling a little fuzzy. Maybe there was more than just beer in those cups, beer usually never hit him this fast. “They weren’t full, maybe cup and a half total.” Jack cocked his head to the side, Drew recognising the question that was going unasked.  “Didn’t want him to drink it. You never know.”  

Jack nodded, turning back to Les. “No drinking on the job, Les. It’s bad for business. And what if somebody called the cop on you?”  

Davey wasn’t looking at his brother anymore, his eyes focused on someone in the distance. Drew followed his gaze, finding a stocky man in all black and a bowler hat.  

Shit .  

“Is he a friend of yours?” Davey asked, pointing to the man in question. Drew was stuffing the last of his papes in the bag Jack had slung around himself, anticipating where this was going to head.  

Jack followed his finger, standing up as recognition dawned on his face. His hand found Drew's wrist in a scramble to move, grabbing tight and pulling him with him. “Beat it! It’s the bulls!”  

They were running, Drew only a step behind Jack because of the grip on his wrist, Davey and Les not that far behind. The ouch was grounding, enough to clear his head to know that this was a time to run, questions be damned.  

Snyder was still chasing them, cop whistles blowing and a yell for ‘Sullivan’, whoever that was.  

Jack pulled him into a building, running up a flight of stairs until they were bursting out onto a roof. He didn’t stop either, fully leaping off the ledge with a yell, and Drew had no choice but to follow, only thinking for a second that this was suicidal, the thought quickly floating away with the knowledge that Jack would never do that, especially not with him.  

Jack poked his head back up for only a second, just enough for Davey and Les to see them and get a move on to the lower roof. It was good timing too, because no sooner had Davey and Les settled beside them did Drew hear the door to the roof slam open.  

“Sullivan!” he heard Snyder bellow. “Wait til I get you back to the Refuge!”  

He’d probably think more of it, but his brain was getting more foggy as time went on and Jack was pulling him again, leading him down the roof until they were on streets again, back to running.   

They were running until they weren’t, Davey getting in front of them just as they were about to turn into another building. “I’m not running any further.”  

Jack just patted him on the shoulder, leading Drew, and subsequently Davey and Les, inside the building. He only dropped his wrist when he felt Drew start to keep pace on his own, obviously recognising where they were.   

They only had a couple more moments of silence, going through doors to spill out into the backstage area before Davey burst out again. “I want some answers.”  

“Shhhh,” Drew drawled out, leaning against a wall to glance up the stairs that led to the stage. The lights were on and bright and he winced, turning back to the guys in front of him.  

“Who was he and why was he chasing you? And what is this Refuge?”  

Jack leaned against the railing, casting a look back to Drew before turning back to Davey. “The Refuge is a jail for kids. That guy chasing me was Snyder, the warden.”  

“You were in jail?” Les asked with childlike wonder.  

“Yeah.”  

“Why?”  

“Well, I was starving, so I stole some food.”  

“Right, food.” Davey scoffed, disbelieving.  

“Yeah, food.”  

“He called you Sullivan.”  

“Well, my name’s Kelly. Jack Kelly. You think I’m lying?” He was defensive now, not in the mood for this.   

“Well, you have a way of improving the truth. Why was he chasing you?”  

“I escaped.”  

“Oh boy! How?” Drew laughed at the amazement in the kid’s voice, causing both of the guys to look over at him before turning back to each other. God, he was definitely drunk.  

“Well, this big shot gave me a ride out in his carriage.”  

“I bet it was the mayor,” Davey snarked.  

“No, Teddy Roosevelt. You ever heard of him?”  

“What’s going on there?” A voice called out form the top of the stairs, all four boys turning to the woman in a purple dress, waving a feathered fan at them. “Out, out, out.”  

“You wouldn’t kick me out without a kiss goodbye, wouldja Medda?” Drew smiled, pushing himself off the wall and only stumbling for a bit, seeing Medda light up as she recognised him.  

“Oh, Drew! Jack!” She pulled him into a hug, another hand reaching out to include Jack. “Where ya been, kids? Oh, I miss seeing you up in the balcony.”  

“Hanging on your every word,” Jack grinned. “So Medda, this is David and Les,” he introduced, pulling out of the hug to gesture to the others.  

“Yes, hello.”  

“And this is the greatest star of the Vaudeville stage today, Miss Medda Larkson, the Swedish Meadowlark,” Drew announced, gaining a laugh from his two friends. He detached himself from Medda, leaning against the same railing Jack was at just a moment before.  

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Medda greeted.  

“Medda also owns the joint,” Jack added.  

She turned her attention to Les, cooing over his cute face and acting skills, until Jack piped up again. “So, is it alright if we stay here for a little while, Medda? Just until a little problem outside goes away, and Andy gets better?”  

“Sure, stay as long as you like, you know that. Toby, just give my guests whatever they want.” Toby came over, the tray of candy in his hand catching Les’ attention, and Davey's in his attempt to stop his brother.  

“What’s wrong with you, baby?” Medda murmured, turning over to where Drew was propped against the railing. He didn’t even realise his eyes were slipping shut until he forced them open when he heard Medda’s words.  

“Participated in a lil’ drinking game,” Jack answered for him, a hand skirting over his wrist gently until it fell back to his side. “Think it’s beer, but that’s never hit him this fast.”  

“How long ago did he have it?”  

“10, 15 minutes tops.”  

“They probably just had something mixed in there, whiskey most likely.” She ran a hand over his cheek, Drew sighing as his eyes slipped shut again. He was so tired, all this running while feeling sluggish. “He’ll be alright, just needs to rest.”  

Davey had set himself up by the ropes, eager to watch the coming performance. Les was next to him, so no one paid Jack any mind as he put one of Drew's arms around his shoulder, helping him up and walking him into the wings. They sat down in between the curtains, still having view of the stage but hidden from Davey and Les.   

Jack kept his arm around his shoulders, and Drew was drunk enough not to stop himself from laying his head back, pillowed by his arm and the crook of his neck.   

“Hi,” he whispered, and Jack looked down at him. Their sitting situation meant that their heads weren’t far apart; Drew could feel every exhale from Jack ghost his lips.  

“Hey.”  

“I think I’m drunk.”  

That got him a chuckle, and Jack looked at him with the same light in his eyes he always did; teasing, soft (some small, quiet part of his mind whispered love and he beat that idea with a stick). “Yes, you are.”  

“Okay.”  

They lapsed into quiet, letting the sound of Medda’s voice fill the silence.  

“Why’d you do it?”  

“Hmm?”  

“You took the drink, instead of Les.”  

He hummed again, trying to find coherent thoughts in his foggy mind. “Didn’t know what was in the cups. We’ve seen enough bad things happen to newsies, especially the young ones. Didn’t want some’ to happen to Les. Hell, it’s happened to me before, woulda been a lot different if it wasn’t for Spot.”  

He felt Jack nod, his arm tightening around him at the mention of Spot. Drew didn’t think anything of it. Him and Spot had a thing for a couple months over a year and a half ago. Most of the newsies knew about it, and thankfully it didn’t do anything for relations when they broke up because it would be a hell of a turf war.  

There were lips in his hair, his hat having ended up in Jack’s bag somewhere along the run. He felt Jack, heard him murmur like a prayer, a promise. “Don’t want anything to happen to ya. Just want you safe, Andy. Please.”  

“Okay.” His head was being tilted up, Jack’s lips closing over his in a soft kiss. If he was sober, if he was clear-headed, he might’ve had more thoughts about it. About the way Jack kissed him like it was the only way to protect him, to keep him safe. About the way Jack kissed him and held him and made him feel like maybe he was loved back.   

But for now, when they broke apart, Drew's head going back to that spot between his neck and shoulder, the arm Jack had around his shoulder pulling him impossibly closer, he was content to just listen to Jack’s breathing and Medda’s singing, lulling him to a peaceful sleep.   

Chapter Text

Jack must have let Drew sleep for a while, because when they finally left Medda's theatre, it was getting dark, the streetlamps already lit.  

He was feeling less sluggish, head only a bit foggy as he accepted the cigar from Jack, taking a long drag as he watched him light his own.  

"So, you like that?” Jack asked, turning to Davey and Les as they closed the door to the theatre.  

“Oh, I loved that,” Davey gushed. “I loved it. It was great. She is beautiful. How do you know her?”  

“She was a friend of me father,” Jack answered as they walked. They came across a shoeshining station, Drew and Jack climbing up into the chairs to sit for a moment. “Come on, Les, you wanna shine my shoes for me?”  

“Oh.” Davey glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. My parents are going to be worried.” He looked up at the two other boys. “What about your’s?”  

Drew stiffened as he took another drag of the cigar, breathing out slowly. “They won’t care. They don’t care.”  

“Mine are out west looking for a place to live,” Jack pulled out a brochure, advertising Santa Fe, New Mexico. “Like this.”  

“See, that’s Santa Fe. As soon as they find the right ranch, they’re gonna send for me.” Drew fought down whatever emotion was trying to arise. He still felt too foggy to deal with that idea.  

“Then you’ll be a real cowboy,” Les yawned.  

“Yup.”  

There was a loud crash further down the street, and all four boys jumped up to investigate. The ran to the next intersection, rounding the corner to see a blaze of fire, people screaming and running through the streets. They just managed to move out of the way of a group of men beating up a lone guy on the ground.   

Drew stood near a bench where Les had curled up, looking on the verge of falling asleep completely. Jack was up at the edge of the sidewalk, watching the fight with interest.  

“Jack!” Davey called out, trying to drag his attention away from the fight. “Why don’t we go to my place and divvy up? You can meet my folks.”  

“It’s the trolly strike, Dave. These couple of dumb asses must not have joined or something.” he laughed.  

They stayed watching the fight, police running in to try to break up the fight. Davey looked at a loss of trying to tear Jack away, glancing at Drew .  

“Hey, Jack,” he called, the boy turning away from the fight to look at him. He gave a soft smile, Jack matching it. “Let’s get out of here.”  

He nodded, “Maybe we’ll get a good headline tomorrow.” He scooped up Les, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Look at this, he slept the whole way through it.”  

Drew just laughed, Davey taking up the front to lead the crew to his place.  

They made their way into an apartment complex, the quartet climbing a few flights of stairs before Davey was opening the door, almost instantly being greeted by his mother.  

“My God. What happened?” She gasped, watching as Jack took Les off his shoulders and setting him on the floor. Drew hovered behind him, unsure about what was going to happen.  

“Nothing, Mama. He’s just sleeping.”  

“We’ve been waiting dinner for you,” the man who could only be Davey's father spoke up, standing from the table as Davey came over, his arm in a sling. Jack and Drew still hovered by the doorway, feeling a little out of place in the family environment. “Where have you been?”  

Davey set a pile of coins on the table. “You made all this selling newspapers?”  

 “Well, half of it’s Jack’s.” He turned around then, seemingly remembering the two boys he left at the door. He came back over, pulling them both inside as he shut the door. “This is our selling partner, Jack Kelly. And this is our friend, Drew...”  

“Miller,” he filled in, fixing the family with a smile. “Drew Miller.”  

“These are my parents.” Davey motioned to the couple standing in front of them. “And that’s my sister, Sarah.” He gestured to a corner of the room, where a girl around their age was sitting, sewing something back together. She gave them a smile and Drew and Jack both raised their hands in a similar greeting.  

“Ester,” Davey's dad said, looking over the trio in front of him. “Mayve David’s friends would like to join us for dinner. Why don’t you add a little more water to the soup?”  

Dinner was a calm affair. Somehow, Drew and Jack were separated with Sarah in the middle of them, and she seemed very interested in talking with Jack about anything and everything. Occasionally, a lick of jealousy would flare up inside him, but it was easily tamped down whenever Jack looked over at him with the same smile as always, somehow blinding and soft at the same time.   

“So, from what I saw today,” Jack was saying. “Your boys are a couple of born newsies.” Sarah was up and clearing the table, and as she picked up his bowl, Jack asked, “can i have some more?”  

“Yes,” she grinned. Like it was her favourite task in the world. Damn, that was the jealousy speaking.   

“So with their hard work and my experience,” he continued on. “I figure we can peddle a thousand papes a week and not even break a sweat.”  

“That many?” Davey's dad asked, intrigued at the workings of the newsie industry.   

“More when the headline’s good.”  

“So what makes a headline good?” Sarah asked, sitting down and placing the bowl back in front of Jack.   

He looked over at her, a cheeky grin on his face. “Oh, you know. Catchy words like maniac, or corpse, um...” His eyes flicked away, settling on Drew's gaze. “Lovenest, or nude.”  

Drew felt his face heat up, and he quickly looked back down at the table. That seemed to be enough because Jack cleared his throat, obviously aware at the silence that was now coming over them. “Excuse me. Maybe I’m talkin’ too much.”  

Whatever Davey’s dad had seen must have been amusing because next he was asking for Sarah to grab the cake that was being hid in a cabinet for his birthday tomorrow. Davey's mom protested, but he won out, the rest of the family standing to help gather the utensils.   

“This is only the beginning, Papa.” Davey exclaimed. “The longer I work, the more money I'll make.”  

“You’ll only work until I go back to the factory, and then you are going back to school, like you promised.”  

The family huddled around the father to wish him a happy birthday, and Drew felt a pang of anguish spread through him.   

There was a hand brushing against his knee and Drew didn’t even need to look away from the picture in front of him to know it was Jack. He was feeling the same thing, feeling sad that they weren’t a part of the picture-perfect family that Davey had.   

In a moment of bold behaviour, that he could certainly blame on the residual alcohol later, Drew moved his hand to cover Jack’s. He curled his fingers around his, squeezing once. Before he moved to let go, Jack squeezed his back, before dropping their hands completely as plates of cake were being passed to them.   

Later in the night, the trio was out on the fire escape, staring up at the night sky.   

“So, how’d your pop get hurt?” Jack asked, turning the attention onto Davey.  

“At the factory. It was an accident. He’s no good to them anymore, so they just fired him.”  

Drew nodded in understanding. There was a rap on the window, and the three of them turned to see Davey's dad. “David, it’s time to come in now.”  

“Alright.” He moved to go in the window, Jack and Drew heading for the stairs down the fire escape. “Hey, guys, why don’t you stay here tonight?”  

Drew shook his head. “No thanks, we’ve got a place of our own.”  

“But your family’s real nice, like mine,” Jack added.  

Davey seemed to take that answer, because he waved goodbye to them before climbing through the window. Drew was already heading down the stairs, Jack hesitating for only a moment before following suit.   

They were quiet as they walked back to the lodging house. Jack seemed lost in his head, staring blankly forward as they navigated through streets they knew like the back of their hands.   

He took the time to organise his own thoughts. The thought of Davey with his family didn’t hurt him as much now, only because he knew he truly could never have that with his own family.   

He left, or rather was kicked out of his house four or five years ago, he’d lost track at this point. He accepted his fate, his parents didn’t want him. That’s fine. He had the newsies. He had this life for himself. It was all okay.  

“Andy.” Jack’s voice was soft, but it pulled him from his thoughts. He stopped in the middle of the empty streets, turning around to face him. They were only a few blocks off from the lodging house, but it didn’t matter as Jack took a step forward, a hand reaching out to brush over his cheekbone, before curling around the back of his head. “You feeling better?”  

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak lest he say something embarrassing like ‘I like you’ or worse ‘I love you’. He might actually run off to Brooklyn if that happened. God, that would be embarrassing to have to explain to Spot.   

Jack nodded as well, tilting his chin up to kiss him softly. It was sweet and slow. His lips tasted like the chocolate cake they had back at Davey's apartment and Drew couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his body as Jack pulled away, his hand dropping from the back of his head to his neck, squeezing once before dropping completely.   

“Let’s get back to the house,” he whispered and Drew just nodded, letting Jack take his wrist for a moment to pull him along. The walk was short and quiet, Jack dropping his wrist when the lodging house came into view.  

Race was walking up at the same time as them, his steps slow from a long work day. He had a smirk on his face though when he noticed the two of them.  

Drew was going to punch him one of these days. It would be deserved.  

“Heya Race,” Jack called out.  

“Hey Jack, hey Drew.”  

“How was your day at the track?” Drew asked.  

“Remember that hot tip I told you about?” Both boys nodded. “Nobody told the horse.”  

They laughed as they carried on up the stairs, changing into their pjamas as they got to their bunks.   

Drew climbed up first, head hitting the pillow and eyes falling shut almost immediately. There was no extra call from Jack, no extra snark from Race. just a quiet “Goodnight, Andy,” that was whispered from the bunk next to him.  

Drew breathed out his own goodnight as he let sleep take hold, wondering if he was imagining the weight of Jack's stare as he drifted off.   

Chapter Text

The next morning was the same as all the others, except for the fact that his head was pounding with a hangover. Drew climbed out of bed and got ready for the day, grabbing a cigar before he fully woke up.  

He somehow managed to be ready in record time. Drew leaned against his bedpost, eyes closed as he took a deep drag of his cigar, the technical rule of smoking indoors be damned. There was a brush against his shoulder, just a gentle movement of fingertips, and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know who was next to him.  

“Mornin’ Jack.”  

“Mornin’ Andy.” There was a smile in his voice, he could picture it clearly. How has his life turned to this? Knowing every detail about his crush, knowing how his lips felt against his even before they talked about feelings?   

At the beginning, Drew had the question in his head of if Jack even liked guys. Now, coming on three months of whatever this arrangement was, it didn’t concern him anymore. Jack was kissing him multiple times a day, just out of the blue. He had to like guys in some way.   

So his own feelings be damned, there wasn’t any hesitation as Jack put two fingers on his chin, Drew's head already moving to face him even with his eyes still closed. He hummed into the kiss, felt Jack smile against his lips lightly before pushing closer.  

Drew pulled away first, just to take a breath. Jack pressed another kiss to his lips before pulling away, his thumb ghosting over his bottom lip before moving.  

He felt his presence leave, took another drag of his cigar.  

Same old morning. Carrying the banner.   

-  

Drew dragged Race out of the lodging house the moment he was done getting ready. His head was hurting from the hangover and spinning from Jack’s presence, and Race was at least kind enough to wait until they’d gotten breakfast from the nuns in the square to start talking.  

“So, how are you and Jack?”  

“Just peachy.” He took a sip of his coffee. “How are you and Spot?”  

Drew took great joy in watching Race turn red and try to stutter out a response.  

“How-”  

“You rag on Brooklyn any chance you get, but the second Spot ends up in town, you’re either nowhere to be seen or looking at him like he hung the damn moon.”  

“Well, at least I’m not making out with him in random corners at all hours of the day.”  

“We are not making out! We just kiss-”  

“You’ll follow him anywhere-”  

“Yeah, he is my friend so I'd do it anyways.”  

“Brit...”  

“Race, if you’re gonna tell me that I should either tell him that I like him and maybe actually love him to save my own heart, I would like you to maybe start something with Spot so at least one of us can have something good in our life. ‘Cause right now, this is the best I got.”  

He drained the last of his coffee, placing it on a passing cart. “It’s fine.”  

“You love him?”  

“I think so.”  

“Jesus Christ, Drew.”  

“Trust me, I know.”  

They made their way through the gates of World newspaper, hearing a couple newsies arguing with Weasel.  

“What’s happening over here?” Drew called out, taking stock of some of the distressed looks on some of their faces.   

“They upped the prices!”  

So maybe not the same old morning.   

By the time Jack made it to the building, there were enough newsies making a riot to bring his headache back full swing. Drew leaned against an extra paper cart as he smoked, watching all the boys argue. He locked eyes with Jack as he walked in, giving him a pained smile while gesturing all around him.  

“What’s goin’ on?”  

“They jacked up the price!” Kid Blink exclaimed, throwing a hand out to Weasel and the Delancy brothers safely in their office. “Ten cents a hundred! You know, it’s bad enough that we gotta eat what we don’t sell, now they jack up the price!”  

“This’ll bust me, I'm barely making a living right now,” Skittery added.  

The newsies began arguing all again and Drew winced at the sound. Jack was walking up the stairs and he paused next to him. “You okay?”  

He waved him off. “Headache. Go fix this.”  

Jack looked like he wanted to stay there, say something else. Or maybe that was the headache talking. Either way, Jack lingered for a beat more before turning back to the stairs, calling out to the rest of the group. “Pipe down, it’s just a gag.”  

He made it up to the window and whatever conversation happened was not a good one because Jack was sitting down on the stairs, looking at a loss. Drew pushed off the cart, going to sit on the step right below Jack.  

headache be damned, his job might be gone.  

“It ain’t fair. We got no rights at all,” Boots complained, glaring back at the window.  

“Come on, it’s a rigged deck. They got all the marbles, okay?” Race said. “Let’s just go up there and cough up the money.”  

“Jack, we got no choice, so why don’t we get our lousy papes while they still got some, huh?” Mush asked, already moving forward.   

Drew put a hand up, stopping him. “Hey, we’re in this all together.”  

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Jack yelled, one of his hands curling around the back of Drew's neck in apology when he flinched at the sound. “They can’t get away with this.”  

“Give him some room, give him some room!” A young voice called out, and it was Les pushing his way through the crowd, trying to get to Jack. “Let him think!”  

Thankfully, the crowd did fall silent, seemingly listening to the young boy’s words. Drew was looking straight ahead, distinctly aware of the hand still on his neck, fingers now idly carding through the hair at his nape. He hated the crowd just moments ago but now was very thankful for it. They were all so close together in the small area that no one noticed Jack’s hand, too busy worrying about what they were going to do.  

He held up his cigar as an offering, Jack taking it with a swipe of his thumb down his neck as a thank you.  

Two more beats of silence and then Race. “Jack, you done thinking yet?”  

Weasel pounded on the glass window. “Hey! World employees only on this side of the gate!”  

The shouting started up again, and Drew spoke up. “Hey! One thing for sure, if we don’t sell papes, nobody sells papes.”  

Jack nodded in agreement, his hand leaving his neck and passing the cigar back down to Drew. “Nobody comes through those gates until they put the price back to where it was.”  

“You mean like a strike?” Davey called out. Jack’s face lit up, no doubt remembering the trolley strike from the night before.   

“Yeah, like a strike!”  

“Are you out of your mind?” came from two people. Drew said it under his breath and Race was saying it in disbelief.   

“It’s a good idea!” Jack protested.  

Davey was moving through the crowd, now crouched in front of them. “Jack, I was joking. We can’t go on strike, we don’t have a union.”  

“But if we go on strike, then we’re a union, right?”  

Davey looked at Drew, a pleading expression on his face. Drew just shrugged. When did he become the voice of reason for all things Jack Kelly?  

In his head, a voice that distinctly sounded like Race said, “ Well, it might be around the time you started making ou-”  

He now had the overwhelming urge to swat him.   

“No, we’re just a bunch of angry kids with no money,” Davey sighed. “Maybe if we got every newsie in New York but-”  

“Yeah, well we organise!” Jack jumped up. “Crutchy, you take up for collection. We get all the newsies of New York together.”  

He was already moving, gesturing to people and walking out of the courtyard. Drew was up and following, standing at the side with Race and Davey, watching the scene play out.  

“Jack,” Davey said, a tired voice like he already knew this wasn’t going to work. “This isn’t a joke. You saw what happened to those trolley workers.”  

“Yeah, well that’s another good idea. Any newsie don’t join us, then we bust their heads like the trolley workers!” That got a cheer out of the crowd and soon everyone was following Jack out of the courtyard, Davey rushing to get next to him.   

“Stop and think ‘bout this Jack, you can’t just rush everybody into this.”  

Jack was nodding along, waiting until they got to the square before turning to address the rest of the newsies.  

“Listen! Pulitzer and Hearst and all them rich fellas, they own this city! The choice has gotta be yours. Are we just gonna take what they give us or are we gonna strike?”  

“Strike!” Les shouted out, and Davey was quick to pull him against him, slapping a hand over his mouth.  

It got the crowds attention though and Jack turned to Davey for another idea on something to say.  

Davey looked as if it was the last thing he wanted to do, and he looked around the square, debating over if this was really worth it. His eyes fell on Drew again, and he just gave a smile, raising his cigar in acknowledgement and mouthing ‘Strike!’  

He sighed, turning back to Jack. “Pulitzer and Hearst have to respect our rights.”  

Jack repeated it and the crowd cheered and soon he was climbing up onto the pedestal of a statue, shouting to the crowd about the new newsies union and the strike.   

It was settled then. The newsies of Manhattan were going on strike and soon enough they’d convince the rest of the New York newsies to join.   

Drew watched as Jack climbed up to the big chalkboard used to announce headlines. He grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote out ‘STRIKE’ in big bold letters.   

Jesus Christ. What were they getting themselves into?  

Chapter Text

"Okay guys! You gotta be ambastards and go tell the other newsies that we’re on strike!” Jack yelled out.  

They were on Pulitzer's doorstep. Jack was on the top step, Davey on one side and Drew on the other.   

“Jack, I’ll take Harlem!” Kid Blink called out.  

“I got Midtown,” Race said, and Drew raised an eyebrow at him, which got him a middle finger in response as he walked off.  

“I’ll take the Bronx,” Crutchy added, pulling another newsie with him.  

Jack delegated out a couple more places, before saying, “So, what about Brooklyn?”  

The crowd hushed down. “Come on, Spot Conlon’s territory. Whassa matta? You scared of Brooklyn?”  

“Hey,” Boots replied, a hand rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “We ain’t scared of Brooklyn. Spot Conlon makes us a little nervous though.”  

Drew sighed, stepping forward. “I’ll take Brooklyn.”  

Jack looked at him. Something other than the usual happy stare, jealousy maybe.  “Yeah, he don’t make me nervous either. You and me, Andy, we’ll go to Brooklyn. And Dave here can keep us company!” He turned to the newest newsie, who nodded.  

“Sure, just as soon as you deliver our demands to Pulitzer.”  

“Me? to Pulitzer?”  

“You’re the leader, Jack.”  

He gave a curt nod, looking back at the large doors. He went back to the crowd, pulling Les with him. “Well, maybe the kid’ll soften him up.”  

Jack leaving seemed to be what the crowd needed to disperse, leaving Drew and Davey still by the doorstep.  

“You’re not scared of Spot?” Davey asked.  

He shook his head. “Not a chance. We know each other.”  

“Really?”  

Drew shrugged. “Had a thing a couple years ago. No hard feelings, technically still owes me a couple favours.” It was partly a test, just to see how Davey reacted.   

“A thing like you and Jack?” And there was a questioning tone in his voice, genuinely curious, as well as a hint of a teasing one.  

Bastard .  

“No, we actually dated properly.”  

“Wait, you’re not dating Jack-?”  

“Davey, shut up please.”  

Thankfully, before he could ask any more questions Drew didn’t really want to deal with right now, a man came up to the two of them. “Hey, what is the strike? What’s going on?”  

“We’re bringing our demands to Pulitzer,” Davey answered.  

“What demands?”  

“The newsies demands,” Drew replied. “We’re on strike.”  

The man nodded, looking curious. “I’m with the New York Sun. Bryan Denton. You guys seem like the kids in charge. What’s your names?”  

“David.”  

“Drew.”   

“David. David as in David and Goliath?” That got a chuckle out of Davey. “Drew. Like Andrew Jackson?”  

He stiffened, shaking his head. “Just Drew.”  

Denton nodded. “You really think old man Pulitzer's going to listen to your demands?”  

“He has to,” Davey said optimistically. which would have looked better if Jack and Les didn’t get thrown out the doors in the same moment, yelling back at whoever was inside.   

It must have been a slow work day because the four of them were sitting in a diner with Denton, listening to Jack retell the story of what had happened once they got inside. Denton seemed intrigued, like he was taking notes in his head, already writing the article about this.  

“Does he scare you?” He asked. "You’re going up against the most powerful man in New York City.”  

“Oh yeah, look at me. I’m trembling," Jack replied, totally straight faced. Drew smothered a laugh with his eggs.  

“Alright,” Denton nodded. “Keep me informed. I want to know everything that’s going on.”  

 He pulled a card out of his pocket, handing it to Davey. “Are we really an important story?”  

“Well, what’s important?” Denton answered, standing up and shrugging on his coat. “Last year I covered the war in Cuba. That was an important story. So, is the newsie’s strike important? That all depends on you.”  

As he walked out, Jack called out to him. “So my name’s really gonna be in the papers?”  

“Any objections?”  

“Not as long as you get it right. It’s Kelly, Jack Kelly. Oh, and no pictures.”  

Denton nodded and left, and the four of them were left to the table of food. And the thought of a trip to Brooklyn.  

-  

“So, is this Spot Conlon really dangerous?”  

“Not a chance,” Drew responded at the same time as Jack said, “Depends.”  

Davey laughed at the difference as Jack turned to Drew. “He ain’t dangerous to you because he still likes you. Everybody else is on thin ice.”  

“What can I say? We were good together,” he chuckled, pointedly ignoring the hard look Jack was giving him.   

They were walking through the docks, a few of the Brooklyn newsies jumping in the water just cause. One that had just climbed out of the water stopped in front of the group.   

“Going somewhere, Kelly?”   

Jack just shifted slightly, Drew right behind him. The guy faltered for a second, and they took that opportunity to move forward.  

On the top of some scaffolding, Drew found Spot watching them walk up. As they got closer, he called down to them. “Well, if it isn’t my old paramour.”  

Drew scoffed as Spot climbed down, landing right in front of them. “You don’t know what that word means.”  

“Do you?”  

“Fair enough.” He dug through one of his pockets, pulling out a couple of polished stones. “Found you a couple of real good shooters.”  

Spot smiled, taking one and rolling it in his hand. “I'll get one of my boys to bring you the cigars I found. Good quality, you’ll like ‘em.”  

Jack cleared his throat behind them, and they both turned around.  

“Well, if it ain’t Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,” Spot drawled out.  

“I see you moved up in the world, Spot. Got a river view and everything.”  

They stared at each other for a few more seconds, before spitting in their palms and shaking hands.   

“So, Jacky-Boy. I’ve been hearing things from little birds.” He pulled out his slingshot, resting the marble in the pouch and angling it towards something in the distance. “Things from Harlem, Queens, all over.”  

He let the slingshot fly and they all watched the marble shatter a bottle. Drew let out a whistle of appreciation.   

“They been chirpin’ in my ear. Jacky-Boy's newsies is playing like they’re going on strike.”  

“Yeah, well we are.”   

“We’re not playing. We are going on strike.” Davey piped up.  

“Oh yeah? Yeah?” Spot scoffed. “What is this, Jacky-Boy? Some kind of walking mouth?”  

“Yeah, it’s a mouth. A mouth with a brain, and if you got half a one, you’ll listen to what he’s got to say.”   

Spot looked at Jack, taking in the seriousness of his town. He turned to Drew next, who just nodded in agreement. Spot took a seat on a crate, turning his attention to Davey.  

“Well, we started the strike, but we can’t do it alone,” Davey started. “So we're talking to newsies all around the city.”  

“Yeah, so they told me. But what’d they tell you?”  

“They’re waiting to see what Spot Conlon is doing. That Spot Conlon is the most respected and famous newsie in all of New York, and probably everywhere else. And if Spot Conlon joins the strike, then they join and we’ll be unstoppable. So you gotta join, you gotta!”  

Spot took a moment. “You’re right Jacky-Boy, brains.” He sat up. “But I got brains too, and more than just half a one. How do I know you punks won’t run the first time some goon comes at ya with a club? How do I know you got what it takes to win?”  

“Because I'm telling you, Spot,” Jack insisted.  

“That ain’t good enough Jacky-Boy.”  

“Spot,” Drew called out, getting the boy to look at him. “You do owe me a favour. Trust us?”  

He shook his head. “Anything else, Drew. But I'm not putting my guys at risk to get hurt just on trust alone.” He stood up. “Anything else?”  

The sun was getting low in the sky, and it was such a long walk back to Manhattan. “Some food and a couple beds?”  

“I’ll see what I have. You want to come with so you can get your cigars?”  

Jack responded before Drew could even open his mouth. “No, take Davey.” All three guys gave him a look. “He’s never been in Brooklyn before, anyways. I need to talk with Andy.”  

Spot raised an eyebrow at the name, giving a smirk to Drew. He just sighed, shrugging your shoulders like ‘What you gonna do about it?’  

“Alright, come on, Mouth. I’ll show you around.” Davey hadn’t even started walking over to Spot before Jack was grabbing Drew's wrist pulling him away from the open pier.   

He was quick with his movements, guiding him around crates and people. “Jack.”  

He didn’t answer, just kept them moving. “Jack.”  

They finally stopped, in some little corner that wasn’t crowded with people, away from most of the noise. “Jack, what the hel-”  

The rest of the words died in his mouth as Jack pushed him against a wall, his mouth on his hot and hard. Drew’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a startled gasp at the motion, and that was all Jack needed for his tongue to enter his mouth, licking behind his teeth.  

Holy crap, this was new. Jack had finally let go of his wrist, one hand on the wall beside his head while the other wrapped around his hip. Drew threw his around his shoulders, pulling him closer, his own tongue edging to explore.  

It took them a bit longer than usual to pull apart, Drew practically slumping back against the wall if it wasn’t for the arms he around Jack. He still had a firm grip on his hip, his eyes searching Drew's for something.  

“Don’t like him,” he finally said, low and voice wrecked. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were red and spit slick. He could only imagine what he looked like himself.  

“We need him,” he replied, voice hoarse. Holy shit, it really didn’t take much from Jack Kelly to absolutely ruin him.   

He shook his head before ducking back in to kiss Drew. No tongue this time, just a firm press of his lips that Drew drank in. He pulled away just enough to speak, Drew could feel the brush of his lips at every syllable. “Don’t like him.”  

“Okay.” Drew agreed. He didn’t really know where this was coming from, he had a thought but nothing confirmed. Jack kissed him like he needed to prove a point, desperate enough to pull him away in a city they don’t know just to push him against a wall and stick his tongue in his mouth.  

Damn, now he can’t even tell Race off for saying they make out.  

They stayed staring at each other, blue eyes meeting hazel. Hands still on each other, each breath synced.  

“We gotta see if Sp-”  

He couldn’t even get the name out before Jack was kissing him again, his tongue pressing against the seam of his lips until he let him in, Jack swallowing the gasp he let out again. Jack moved impossibly closer, his body plastering Drew's against the wall.  

Jack pulled away again. “Don’t like him. Don’t say his name. Not here.”  

Drew nodded slowly. “Food. And beds, Jack. It’s late. We won’t make it back to Manhattan for a while.”  

Jack very obviously looked like he’d rather do anything other than stay in Spot Conlon’s territory, but he also knew that Drew was right.  

Drew’s arms fell back to his side, and Jack squeezed his hip once, twice, before pulling away, straightening his vest. “Come on then.”  

He followed without thought, Jack leading them back through whatever maze he took to get them there, before they were emptying back out into the Spot where they first were. Spot and Davey were sitting on crates talking. There was a box in Spot’s hands.   

“There you guys are,” Davey called out, a smile on his face. Jack had looked relatively back to normal and Drew could only hope the same for himself, but there was probably no mistaking the swollen redness of their lips. “Spot’s got some extra beds we can use tonight.”  

“I won’t even count it as one of your favours, Drew,” Spot grinned, easily taking note of Drew's appearance. He knew first-hand what Drew looked like after making out; even if it’s been a couple years, he still knew. He held out the box. “Fresh cigars. Imported from London.”  

“Thanks.” He grabbed the box, shaking it around a little. There was a good amount in there, he’d have to keep them hidden to keep the other newsies from stealing them.  

“Come on now, let me take you to the bunkroom. Told some of the guys to leave some dinner in there.”  

The three Manhattan newsies followed Spot as he lead them to a building just off the pier, then inside a room with a couple empty beds. “Could only manage to get two open ones. You guys can make do, right?” He gave a knowing look to Drew, who only rolled his eyes as he walked in.  

Thankfully, there were actually plates of food, and once Spot left them, the three ate in silence. Davey was the first to claim a bed, sprawling out in one and falling asleep instantly.  

That left Drew and Jack with one bed. They didn’t say anything as they left their plates, just shared a look before going over to the bed.   

It was a long day, truly, so no one could blame Drew about how he almost fell asleep the moment his whole body hit the mattress. He felt the bed dip next to him before it stopped, the familiar presence of Jack Kelly next to him. Before he slipped off completely to sleep, he felt a hand ghost over his back, hovering there for a moment before it settled. Heat radiated off the hand sitting at the dip of his back, grounding and comforting.  

He had one last though before he slipped off completely.  

There was no going back now.  

Chapter Text

It was the next day, and Drew woke up with his back against Jack’s chest, one of his hands wrapped around him and resting on his stomach.   

One of Drew's own hands covered his own, and he could feel every breath Jack took on the back of his neck.  

So not the same old morning.   

Davey was sitting up in the bed next to them, lacing his shoes. He looked at Drew with a smirk on his face, glancing between the two guys.   

Drew scowled, mouthing “Not a damn word, David.”  

He raised his hands in silent surrender, still smiling as he walked off.   

The arm around him tightened, and Drew heard Jack groan out a yawn. “Mornin’ Andy,” he murmured, his forehead pressed against the back of his head.   

“Mornin’ Jack,” he whispered, scared to move and cause Jack to pull away.   

“Dave left?”  

“Lil bit ago. Probably searching for food or-” he cut himself off from saying Spot, distinctly remembering the way Jack had pressed him against the wall, his tongue roaming his mouth. “Waiting for us to leave.”  

“Don’t want to keep ‘im waitin’ then. Got a strike to run.” Jack pulled away easily and Drew was left with cool air against his back as he sat up.   

Jack leaned against the door as he laced his shoes back up. Same blinding smile on his face.   

Drew sent him one back, stretching as he stood up. “Carrying the banner.”  

“Let’s do it.”  

-  

The goodbye to Spot and the rest of Brooklyn was brief, especially with Jack glaring at Spot from behind Drew.   

Spot had pulled him into a hug, whispering in his ear. “You’ve got yourself a possessive one. He’s good for you, though.”  

Drew had slapped him in the back of the head when they pulled away, causing half a dozen of the Brooklyn newsies to start approaching until Spot had just laughed, calling them off.  

By the time they made it back to Manhattan, the rest of their newsies were gathered in the square.  

“Brit! Jack!” Race called out, seeing the three of them approach. “Where’s Spot?”  

“He was concerned about us being serious. You imagine that?” Jack responded, a hard edge on his voice.  

“Well, Jack, maybe we out to ease off a little. Without Spot and the others, there ain’t enough of us.”  

“I definitely think we should forget about it for a little while,” Skittery aadded.  

Drew’s eyes widened, and Jack scoffed. “Oh, do ya?”  

“Yeah, I mean, without Brooklyn... you know?”  

“Spot was right, is this just a game to you guys?” Jack exclaimed and that caused an uproar from the closest newsies, now all arguing about what the next steps would be.   

Davey slipped away, walking around to watch the other newsies. Soon though, he was rallying the all the newsies, so when the circulation bell started ringing, Jack called out “Anybody hear that?”  

The crowd shouted back “No!”  

“So what are we gonna do about it?”  

“Soak ‘em!”  was the final cheer before they were running through the gates of the world building.   

There was an attempt to be civil at first, Drew could attest to that. They waited at the bottom of the stairs, the newsies that had just bought papers dropping them on the floor before joining their ranks.   

One newsie though refused to drop his papers, and Drew saw what was going to happen the second Jack slapped the stack out of his hands.   

The fight broke out from there, and soon newsies were tearing up papers and throwing tomatoes through the open windows. Never one to not join in on a fight, Drew was on top of a cart with Race, tearing up papers and throwing them in the air. He watched Jack dance around in it all, a smile on his face.   

Soon though, whistles were blowing and Drew sobered up when Jack yelled. “Hey, it’s the bulls! Cheese it, cheese it, it’s the bulls!”  

All the newsies were running out, the papers littering the floor.  

They were too busy running away to notice one of their own was missing.  

-  

"Here it is, the Refuge. My home, sweet home.” Jack said as the three of them approached the tall building. He had a rope in his hands and his cowboy hat on, Drew had an idea of what they were going to be doing.   

“How can you be sure they sent him here?” Davey asked.  

“How can I be sure the Delancey’s stink?” Drew replied.  

“It’s just how things work, you know. An orphan gets arrested, Snyder makes sure he gets sent here, so he can ‘rehabilitate’ him. The more kids in the Refuge, the more money the city sends, the more Snyder sticks in his pocket.” Jack nodded up to the building. “He’s here.”  

“So how come you brought the rope?”  

Drew and Jack just shared matching smiles before they lead Davey up to the roof.  

Davey had the task of tying one end to some pipes on the roof, while Drew helped secure the other end around Jack’s waist.  

“Kay, all set,” he announced, looking up from the knot to find Jack already looking at him. “Don’t fall.”  

“Don’t drop me,” he retorted, pressing his lips to his softly. “For luck,” he whispered as he pulled away.  

“Okay.” He nodded, stepping away. Jack took the cowboy hat off his head, placing it on Drew's head with a smile.  

“For safe keeping.”  

“Of course.” Then they were lowering Jack down the wall and listening to him talk with Crutchy.   

He wasn’t going to come back with them. The Delancy twins had got him pretty good and he had too much pride to let them carry him out of there.   

Drew understood it though, at least inside the Refuge, he’d get more medical help than he ever really could back at the lodging house. Plus he wouldn’t have to walk around all day to sell papes.  

They pulled Jack back up onto the roof, walking back to the lodging house. They dropped Davey back off at his apartment, Drew and Jack walking slowly back.  

“We’ll get him back out, Jack.”  

“They hurt him, Andy.”  

“Yeah, and as much as we hate the Refuge, they’ll actually be helpful for Crutchy. He can get better there.”  

“But, Andy-”  

“He’s safe there,” he said, putting a hand on his arm. “It might suck, and it might be worse for us to think about, but he is safer there than he with us right now.”  

Jack nodded, taking a deep breath. In a moment of boldness, he pushed the cowboy hat out of the way and pulled Jack down by the ends of his bandanna, pressing his lips to his gently.   

He felt Jack sigh, the tension leave his body. “It’s gonna be okay, Jack.”  

“Okay.”  

The next morning, they were back in the streets. It was a standoff between the newsies on strike and the new newsies the World had brought in to move their papes.   

Drew was at the front with Jack and Davey, the latter calling out into the silence. “Alright! Everyone remain calm!”  

“Let’s soak ‘em for Crutchy!” Jack roared, and that was enough to send the group forward.   

They were running into the courtyard and it seemed like it was going well until Race screamed out. “Shit, Jack! It’s a trick, it’s a trick!”  

Another gate was opening and a bunch of men with chains and clubs were flooding into the space, closing the gate they’d just gone through and cutting them off from the outside.   

The mob was circling up, crowding around Jack, Drew, and Davey. They were being thrown around in the middle, dodging the swings from the older men.   

Jack was getting pushed onto the stairs, a few men stepping forward to attack, and Drew went rushing towards him.  

He heard a “Wait!” from Davey seconds before he felt blooming pain on his side. He fell to his knees, heard Jack scream out “Andy!” before there was a crack and pain on his head.  

Then it was all black.  

Chapter Text

Drew was awake before he opened his eyes.   

There was chatter around him, but it was too much for his foggy head to keep up with, so he focused on everything else.  

He was on something hard, but there was a blanket around him, and a pillow under his head.   

The air was clean, nothing like the inside of any room he’d been in. He was outside.   

The talking around him was getting louder, and he found it in himself to start paying attention. Davey's voice stood out first, him hushing a few others around him. Race had to be next to him, arguing with Davey about something, Drew couldn’t tell. There was a female voice, sounding something like Davey's mother, telling the boys around her to keep quiet for him to rest.   

There was a crash of a door being opened, someone sounding distinctly like Spot calling “Jack!” in an exasperated tone (he must have showed up for the fight, good on him), then someone that was definitely Jack yelling “Where is he?!”  

He opened his eyes then, blinking the blur out of his eyes. He was on the roof, and it was Davey's mother next to him, looking at him with motherly concern. She smiled when he saw him focus on her. “Hey there, Drew. The bump on your head isn’t too bad, but whatever hit you on your side definitely hurt a bit. Gotta take it easy for a while.”  

He nodded as best he could, now feeling more aware of his surroundings. Jack was yelling again, sounding like he was trying to push people off of him. Drew turned to look at Race and Davey, their eyes moving from wherever Jack was back to him. “Can you get ‘im?”  

Davey nodded, walking away a bit before calling out. “Jack! He wants to see you!”  

That was enough for most of the noise to move away, and Davey's mother patted his shoulder before standing to leave, pulling Davey with her.   

Jack was at his side in a second, his hand ghosting over his shoulder as he knelt at his side. “Andy,” he breathed out, so much emotion bleeding into his tone that Drew didn’t even know where to start with deciphering it.   

“Jack,” he rasped out. “’M okay.”  

“You’re hurt.” His voice broke, eyes scanning Drew like he could find the injuries and heal them himself with just a look.   

Drew shifted his hand and he zeroed in on the movement, Jack reaching out to grip it tightly.   

“Race?”  

“He’s alright, Jack. Just a little hit to the head, chain to the ribs. He’s gonna be fine.” Race drawled out, an amused tone in his voice. “He just needs to rest.”  

“Yeah, well, he’s not fine right now,” Jack said, a hard and broken look in his eyes. “Leave, Race, go talk with Spot about what next.”  

Drew laughed at the dismissal, before wincing as it hit his ribs. This was going to be a pain in the ass.   

Race must have left because Jack was shifting forward, his forehead hitting his shoulder as he took a shaky breath in. “You fell, Andy. You fell and I couldn’t get to you. Davey was the one to pull you out and I didn’t even know until after. I thought you were gone and no one was saying anything and I couldn’t find you until Mush came back and said you were here and then I was runnin’ and runnin’-”  

“Hey, hey,” Drew said, his other hand moving and finding the back of Jack’s head and burying his fingers in his hair when he felt wetness soak through his shirt. Jack was crying. “I’m okay. It’s alright.”  

“I need you safe. Please, Andy, need you safe. Can’t have you hurt, please, I don’t want to see you hurt, please. Please.” He was full on crying now, the grip on his hand tight and Drew couldn’t move far, could only hold Jack closer to him and squeeze him back just as tightly. He moved his head closer, pressing his lips to the crown of his head.  

“Gotta protect you, gotta keep you safe, please, Andy. You can’t get hurt. I don’t know what I'do if you get hurt again. Please, Andy, please, please, please. Andy .”  

He was sobbing, his breath going short. “Jack. Get up here. Please. You can’t kneel there forever.”  

“I can’t- you’re hurt-, An-dy,” his voice broke again, looking up at Drew with wild eyes.   

“Are you sayin’ I don’t know what I can handle?”  

“No. Never.”  

“Then get up on the damn bed.”  

He still hesitated, but Jack climbed up regardless. The chain had hit him on his right side, so Jack curled up on his left, switching to hold his right hand as he laid his head on his shoulder.   

Drew ran his fingers through Jack’s hair, holding him close as his sobs subsided. “I’m okay, Jack.”  

“Want you safe. Always, Andy. Please.”  

“Okay.”  

He was tired, so he told himself Jack was just worried. They were friends, and he was hurt, and this was definitely not the time to say ‘I love you’, especially when Drew desperately needed Jack’s presence with him right now.  

He could deal with the feelings in the morning. Right now, he laid with Jack next to him, staring up at the stars until he fell back to sleep, the only sound being their synced breathing.   

-  

“Hey fellas!” Denton called as he walked into the diner. Drew winced slightly at the loud noise, and Jack rubbed his knee in apologies before turning to Denton. “Big news!”  

The newsies had gathered in the diner the day after the fight, Denton having told Davey for them to meet him here with big news. Drew was sat at a corner table with Race, Spot, and Jack, who had refused to let him out of his sight for a moment once they had woken up the next morning.  

Like the time before, they didn’t talk about sleeping in the same bed together and Jack had pulled him into a dark corner of the stairwell as they were leaving, hand brushing against the bandages on his side as he kissed him softly.  

They also didn’t talk about the way Jack had broken down at his bedside. They weren’t talking about a lot of things.   

Denton came over to the group, dropping a newspaper in front of Jack. There, on the front, was a group of newsies, under the headline ‘The Children’s Crusade; Newsies Stop The World’.  

He looked closer at the photo; Jack was in the middle. He wasn’t smiling though, like the rest of them. He looked scared, panicked and desperate to leave. Davey was also missing from the photo.  

Was this when Davey had dragged him away from the fight? Jack was wondering where he was the whole time, bolting from the world the second he heard he was safe at Davey's apartment. More of last night came back to him, with a clearer head. The way Jack had held him close, tears soaking his shirt as he pleaded with Drew to just be safe.  

Maybe Jack did feel the same as him. Maybe it wouldn’t be too much of a risk to say something.   

Around them, everyone was talking about being famous, what they would do with all the money they would get because they were the kings of New York. And if Drew and Jack snuck a few glances at each other while they were chatting, who was going to stop them?  

He really only wanted one thing to consider himself a king of New York.